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On a roll, a gust of motivation
just blew in
knocked me over
with all the words
which seem to drop
onto the paper
like autumn leaves
onto the grass.
Bringing early rain,
soft, sweet drops
of metaphors
and rhyme,
washing away
arid dust of writer's block.
Ah, the taste so sublime
upon my lips,
a familiar kiss
the strong arms
of an absent lover,
just returned from the rain.
There is a fresh smell
in the air,
and the words tumble
end upon end
on inspiration's wind.
© Dolores Nowak-Akey
all rights reserved
2002
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